Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords
by nekoanima
Summary: In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But hope finds him and sends him back in time. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Without memory and only ordered to serve Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise. Future!Creature!MoD!Harry, Harry/Voldemort. DARK!
1. Chapter 1

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance (Updated proper genre order)

Main Characters: Harry Potter, Voldemort

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Full Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

 **A/N:** AU. Harry Potter time travel fic. Future!Creature!MoD!Harry, Harry/ Voldemort. Kind of V for Vendetta-esque.

 **Updated Author's Note:** This is a dark story it is not kind to its characters. I will try to make sure that content warnings are marked before each chapter just read the author's notes.

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 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

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 **Chapter 1: Once A Man**

He was a hero once. Or at least that's what they say. It sounds like fiction if you try to read the records. Not that most people could. They've been classified for ages. Most people wouldn't even remember who he was before.

He was a man once...history says he was a great man, perhaps even a good one.

Now though...there's nothing left of whoever that man was. I don't even think he would answer to his own name anymore. Not after what was done to him.

Looking at the creature they keep its hard to guess that it was ever more than a weapon. Its almost sad...no it is sad, we've just gotten use to it is all. They drag him out to fight their battles and then put him back when they have no use for him. Locked away, slowly driven mad- without sight, sound, or even touch. The only hand he's known is the one that beat and lashed him when he disobeyed. Not that he does anymore.

Its been like this for generations now. I stole into the archives once. I wanted to know...Now? I'm sorry that I do.

He was captured but never killed. Even though he should have been. I almost wish he had been. No one deserves what's happened to him. He was changed after that, into something more...something we still don't have words for. Anyone other than him would have died, but he didn't- still doesn't.

History gets fuzzy about if he escaped, was rescued, or if he was simply set loose. It doesn't really matter now. It didn't matter then either. After he was freed and returned to his own people he did what everyone expected. he fought, and fought hard. Some of the archives say his enemies begged for mercy that never came. When the fighting was done he was something...else. More than a man but less than human. History says he went to ground after that. That he made a new life for himself. Or he did until his old one caught up with him. Power like his couldn't be allowed to roam free. He was captured and anyone who tried to get in the way was executed. Everyone who had tried to come to his aid was cut down like blades of grass and they brought him here. That was a very long time ago.

After he was brought here they tried to kill him. Dozens of times. Every way they could imagine they tried and still he didn't die. What do you do with a threat you can't kill? The only thing they could do was make use of it.

The things they did...the spells they used...were it anyone else, aimed at anyone else. They would have had a one way ticket to Azkaban. They took a man and they trained him, tortured and shaped him. It went on for years until you would never guess who their monster had been. He's been passed from handler to handler. Forgotten by history. Denied all that it means to be human.

The prisoner.

The soldier.

The weapon.

The master of death.

The boy-who-lived

The man-who-would-not-die

Harry Potter.

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 **Nekoanima:** I know new story, probably lame idea and unfortunately I'm going to make it a standing notice on all my stories that they may not be completed (I'll try of course but I can't promise I will). Also no I don't have a Beta (I'm not quite sure how to get one either to be honest)


	2. Chapter 2

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance

Main Characters: Harry Potter, Voldemort

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

 **A/N** : This is going to be dark. Still not sure how dark but rating it M just in case.

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 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

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 **Chapter 2: Old Monsters**

I am tired. So very tired. Another war, another battle, just another everything. I'm not alive but I can't die either and I can't even remember why.

I can feel her presence as they lead me back to my cage. She's young. I know that much. I can feel it in her presence, smell it on her skin, even hear it in her voice.

Aurore, The Handler's Apprentice.

She's next in line to become my handler- the one who makes sure I follow orders. I sometimes wonder how she came to be here. She's too innocent for this kind of work. They seem to get younger every time...how long has it been? My current handler is an old man now...his voice is gravely and his joints creak. He was young when he became my handler. How many have there been?

They keep me in a room cut off from everything so I don't get any ideas. Truth is ideas are all I have. After all a weapon doesn't need to know why, it just needs to work.

I've watched kings rise and fall with these blind eyes of mine. I've learned what to expect from all types. I'm just a weapon they use when they need to get their hands dirty.

When they don't need me anymore they just put me away like a sword on a shelf. I've had more than a few kings come down and look at me the same way. Covetous. I could feel their eyes on my skin...I don't need to see their faces to feel their eyes. Doesn't matter, the only difference between me and that sword on a shelf is I can think. I've been fighting for names and causes that own me as long as I can remember. I don't believe in anything or anyone.

They bind me, to make me safe. They lash tethers to my manacles and suspend me in a magic field. It always feels a bit like bubble to me but nobody's ever asked me. Its supposed to keep my muscles from wasting away but it has its side effects. It cuts off any sense of touch just like this whole room cuts me off from the world outside. No touch, no sound, I don't even remember what it's like to see. It'd drive a man insane. But I'm not a man...not so sure I'm sane either.

They laugh and joke while they tie me back. I'm some kind of joke to them 'the minister's pet monster'. They laugh but they stink of fear all the while.

When the guards are gone she comes to me. I can hear her soft breaths and light feet. They echo powerfully in this room of mine.

Telum, she calls me, like its a name. It offends her to call me weapon in one language but not another. Funny girl. She speaks to me, cleans the blood off my face and hands. Some of its mine most of it isn't. Magic makes kills clean if you use it right. Walking out on a field when hit wizards and aurors have been called back doesn't leave much room for right. My magic isn't like theirs. I can use their spells but it isn't the same. They can cast a blasting hex and hope their enemy doesn't shield right away, I can _be_ a walking blasting hex. I am what is sent when things go wrong.

"I found my great grandmother's journal. You were in it. Sometimes its a shock to be realize how old you really are." Aurore, little girl you shouldn't do this. If she tries to pretend I'm human she'll just be hurt in the end. She's not the first to try but...being kind to something that only looks human...at least I think I might, it only ends badly for them. Most of them stopped, the ones that didn't disappeared.

She goes on with her story for a while. The truth is her stories never make much sense to me. Nobodies do, well they wouldn't if any of them bothered to tell them to me. My time between wars makes a life outside seem like a dream, or maybe just a nightmare. I can't picture all these strange things Aurore talks about. I know what the sun is I know what rain is. I've fought wars under both. I've had countless handlers in my lifetime most of them only bother talking to give me my orders.

She does this in hopes that she'll find a man hiding under my skin. But there is no man only the weapon. I think but I don't feel. Sorry little girl there's no one in this room but a broken old monster.

Give up little girl. I already have.

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 **A/N** : Short chapters will probably be a thing for a while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance

Main Characters:

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

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 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

* * *

A/N: Chapter warning...mildly creepy. Underage stolen kiss.

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 **Chapter 3: Monsters Under the Bed**

The Black Archives. Just one of many dark secrets that the department of mysteries has tucked away for a rainy day. A lot of it comes from things seized during raids. Dark books, artifacts, things that shouldn't be kept in the hands of the masses. They get taken away and brought here to be studied, labeled and put on a shelf. Just like Telum. Some of the old handlers called him Lord Peverell, mocking him for something he can't even remember...something they made him forget.

You could wander the archives lost for days if you didn't know where you were going. It's a good thing this isn't my first time down here. It won't be my last either. My order has devoted our whole lives to understanding Telum. As a handler my job will be to take care of him and give him the minister's orders. While I'm being trained I'm just supposed to watch him, to study him and learn what those tiny reactions he displays mean. I'm supposed to know what's in his head better than he does. My job would be a lot easier if he could truly speak...Sometimes I think I've got it but others...I just don't know. He can get in your head, it's dangerous and handlers try to distance themselves from him because of it. It's like legimancy but scarier and….well a blind man doesn't need eye contact. But it's the only way he can talk anymore. He's told me before that he's not a man but I'm never quite sure what he meant. Did he mean that he wasn't male or that he wasn't human? With him it could have been both for all I know.

Truth be told I don't know if he even thinks of himself as living enough to have a gender or maybe its being the only one of your kind that does it. In all the years he's been here no handler has ever documented him having a physical interest in anyone. Thinking about Telum and how he sees himself is always a bit of a headache. With a being as unique as he is we have no way of knowing what could be considered normal for him.

Its part of the reason I'm in this pit. Telum is one of the Department of Mysteries greatest projects. The man-who-can-not-die. In the early days of his time here they went through his mind and drug out every memory to be viewed at their discretion. They never found the answers they wanted but they kept them and locked them away down here. They kept them here even long after they were burned from his mind.

Taking another turn around the stacks I see it. In a rounded dead end was the largest pensive I'd ever seen. Its sunken into the floor and the bowl is almost a meter across. Its swirling silver and pearlescent. It looks like a well into the river styx*. But worse...I know what it holds. Harry Potter, the man he was before he became my Telum.

I never could bring myself to tell him his own history. I can't tell him that my great grandmother I tell stories about was his own niece. I can't tell him that I found the travel journals of a woman who felt he was her first friend. I can't tell him anything because I'm afraid...there's only so much a soul can take even an immortal one.

I kneel to the floor and let my head fall to the silvery pool's surface. I never know what memory I'm going to see in it but I try to brace myself as best I can.

When the swirling colors come to a stop I find myself in a dungeon. It was dark, lit only by a few torches hanging from the thick stone walls. The room is barren but for a potions bench and a prisoner-a boy, bound to the stone in chains. He's in old muggle clothes, at least a century out of date but probably right for back then, that dwarf him several times over making him seem so much smaller...more frail.

" _Harry Potter" The boy looks up at the cloaked figure that enters._ I know now the boy is Telum or rather Harry but seeing him like this...it's so different. His eyes were green once and he wore spectacles. He looked so young...so human. He's always sworn to me that he isn't but I've never believed him. It's true there's always been something otherworldly about him but Telum has always been human to me. That's why I care so much about his heart breaking. Maybe I've just been seeing things I want to see. But this boy...I would never guess him to be Telum. My sightless, fearless warrior. This little boy with his fire and his spirit was afraid and still fought...I can't find any part of him left in the man under my care. If Harry Potter is fire then my Telum is steam. He is powerful, dangerous even, but he's a slave to someone else's will.

 _Paper white hands lowered the newcomer's hood only to reveal the man who held him hostage was hardly a man at all. He looked serpentine, like a snake that was forced to fill the silhouette of a man._

" _I know Dumbledore's secret now dear boy." "He was sweating in the atrium, praying that I wouldn't find out." He gathered rune etched bowls from the potions bench. His siblent voice never rising over a whisper._

" _The human body is too fragile to be a vessel, even for a piece as small as that."_

" _What do you want from me? Why aren't I dead?" The boy pulled his chains once more but it was plainly pointless. He was small and they were strong._

" _From you? Nothing. You don't even know what you are. Soon that won't matter either." The serpent man stepped closer still to the struggling boy._

" _As for why you aren't dead... Quite simply it is in my interests that you not be."_

" _What are you going to do to me?"_

" _I aim to make you stronger. Nothing will harm you." A pale spidery hand trailed down the boy's cheek in a twisted caress._

 _A silver dagger with a scalloped edge appeared in the pale man's hand. He drew it effortlessly down the boy's left arm, from wrist to elbow, matching the silvery scar lining his right arm. The green eyed boy cried out as the wound was pressed and made to bleed freely. The blood dripped and pooled down his elbow into a pearlescent bowl beneath it._

 _Once full the serpent pulled back and carried it to the bench once more._

 _Dipping a thick handled painting brush into the pearly bowl, he coated the blood over a sheet of vellum. After a moment the blood began to disappear as if swallowed up by the sheet. When it was bare once more words began to write themselves as if they were made by cracks of light._

" _No lover to be had, I am surprised by you. You have basilisk venom and phoenix tears flowing together in your blood. Your luck is truly remarkable, boy." Crimson eyes scanned down the vellum sheet. "Not just luck." A hairless brow quirked. "It would seem there is truth to some rumors after all."_

" _What are you talking about, Snakeface."_

" _Tsk tsk, you don't even know your own family history."_

" _Who's fault is that!"_

" _I shall enlighten you. When I was a boy there were rumors floating around about all sorts of things. One of them was that your line was cursed and blessed in turn. There was also some story about your ancestors being birds but another time. The story goes that a forefather of yours made a bet. The specifics were never mentioned. Needless to say he lost his wager and those he bet against were not pleased. The man's wife fearing for her only son's life did the unthinkable. Heavily pregnant she drank a luck potion, praying for her child's life. She made it to her birthing bed and her son was born but he was still in danger. She bathed her newborn babe in the liquid luck. Blessing him inside and out with golden luck and cursing him to need it. Sound familiar?"_

" _No." The boy growled._

" _The misfortune to get into deadly kinds of trouble but somehow always escaping right before the executioner's ax can fall."_

" _I...I. It's not true."_

" _No need to lie here boy. I have all I need to know."_

" _I'm not lying! You started all of this!"_

" _Perhaps, but I am far from the only trial you have faced."_

 _The pale man busied himself with jars and vials at the bench they were labeled with strange indecipherable squiggles that hardly seemed to be any sort of real language._

" _Fire, acid, poison, magical destruction." The red eyed man muttered under his breath as he wrote something._

Whatever the Dark Lord wrote that day has never been found, much to the dismay of a few generations of unspeakables. I know some that would gladly hand over their arms, legs and first born for a single look at whatever that monster wrote back then.

" _Veela and dragons are both fireproof. One to allow for a human appearance the other to enhance."_

" _Funny hearing that coming from you." The boy spat venomously ._

" _But I have no need to remain hidden. I require fear and loyalty far more than the ability to hide. You will be able to hide in plain sight."_

" _I have six years of experience that says I can't."_

 _The snake man gave a hissing chuckle. "You may be right there dear one."_

" _Lethifolds maintain the ability for camouflage and a resistance towards all kinds of magical tampering. Their very flesh was the original basis of the notice-me-not charm." The inhuman man kept muttering as he searched through the squiggle marked vials purposefully._

" _Ah! Vampiric invulnerability."_

" _Spf 1,000,000, check." The boy muttered snarkily._

" _That's enough from you." Red eyes glared almost indulgently at the boy. The dark lord's demeanor was strangely calm as if he was dealing with a kitten pretending to be a lion rather than an enemy at his mercy._

 _Seven obsidian bowls were placed in a circle of runes with a large disk at its center. Blood from the boy and blood from the dark lord mixed together on the disk with a dozen other things that only the black mage himself knew._

 _The snake man waved his white bonelike wand over each black stone bowl with runes drawing themselves in its wake. A hissing chant of parseltongue flowed from his lipless mouth as his wand was waved in complex patterns over the array._

I've read that the Unspeakables themselves had been over this memory and others like it hundreds of times hunting for any kind of clues to be found in hopes of replicating Telum. None of them ever succeeded. The Lord Peverell was the last great creation of a dark lord so powerful his name was stricken from history itself

 _The creature that formed at the center of the runic array looked like a baby but it was a monster. Pale skin, tiny clawed hands armored with scales, and veela's wings with glass shards for feathers. Its eyes were large and venomous green with slits for pupils._

 _Another dagger appeared in the snake man's hands. This one was shorter with grooves and runes etching its blade. Without hesitation he pierced the newborn beast's side. It shrieked in pain. As he drew the blade back its blood pooled in every groove and rune on the blade._

 _The pale man turned back to the chained boy with the gore covered dagger still in hand and he whispered softly into the boy's ear._

" _This is my gift to you Harry Potter. No one shall be able to do what I can not. Your life belongs to me and me alone." the dagger was thrust deeply into the boy's gut._

 _A blood curdling scream filled the air. Large wing bones ripped themselves from his back. Muscle sinew and flesh spread over them as if melting in reverse. Sharp scales cut their way through soft human flesh. A spiny crest, a basilisk's crest, began to poke through his dark hair and dark brows tapered into pointed slants._

" _You are a beautiful creature, Harry Potter." he held the new creature's chin by his thumb and forefinger, forcing it to look up at him._

I've never seen Telum's creature side before. They haven't used it against anyone since the old days. It was too wild for his masters to control. After that they made a fail-safe so it couldn't manifest without their say. A pair of rune coated silver cuffs were put on his wrists and haven't been removed since.

 _From across the chamber a metallic clatter and a wet splashing could be heard. The dark lord turned back to the newborn creature that by all logic and reason should have died from the dagger piercing its tiny body's delicate organs._

" _Still alive little one? I am impressed. Even you are more durable than I had hoped." The infant monster chirped and tried to flail it's useless wet wings._

 _The dark lord knelt down and collected the tiny beast. It's big green eyes looked up at his inhuman face and warbled at the snake man. Hellfire red eyes looked back with a strange look in their depths._

 _The tiny beast yawned, it would have almost been cute if not for the mouthful of needle sharp teeth it displayed. It curled itself contentedly in the crook of the arm belonging to the monster that had seemingly mortally wounded it._

 _A sharp crash filled the dungeon's air from the corner where Harry had pulled one of his chains from the wall. "You are stronger now I see." A violent string of hisses escaped the teenager's mouth. Its teeth were a fearsome combination of snake and dragon. Sharp points meant for ripping and tearing flesh filled his mouth while fine needle point filaments created a guarded venomous edge._

" _Stand down Harry." The boy-creature's eyes grew wide as he did as he was commanded. His entire body went slack as he obeyed the dark lord's command. It was clear that he would follow the inhuman mage's order, he had no choice in the matter._

" _Good boy." The beast perched on its haunches, human feet had become dragon clawed talons. It's poisonous green eyes were still wide and afraid and utterly fixed on the small creature held in the dark lord's arm._

 _The small beast chirped with tiny claws gripping the mage's robe._

" _Yes I suppose this makes him your mother doesn't it. Born from his blood and pain. Created by my magic." The pale man placed the infant in the teenager's arm cradled close to his chest._

" _You may keep him if you wish." The dark lord's clawed hand stroked the boy-creature's hair softly._

 _A shard feathered wing gracefully pulled around hiding the infant from sight._

" _You have no fear of me, you'll have no need to fear me again, boy." The snakeman's lipless mouth covered the creature's venomous maw in some twisted mockery of a kiss._

" _My secret, this you take to your grave. My-"_ The memory seemed to mute and blur. Whatever the dark lord had told the fallen hero was protected by magic-his magic. No one has ever been able to reveal what was hidden. Telum, if he had ever known, has lost whatever secret it was when they tried to torture it out of him. He probably wouldn't have been able to tell them what it was even if he had wanted to. Even after all this time there is no one that has been able to beat the magic cast by the feared dark lord.

Seeing this...Seeing the man sworn under my charge robbed of his humanity, of his free will….it makes me want to set him free. But I know it would be of no use.

My Telum isn't that boy...to even pretend he could be would be a fool's errand. The dark lord may not have killed that boy but he paved the way for someone else to. Telum is a living weapon that has been kept in the dark for almost a century of use, abuse, and neglect. He's been caged so long that his chains aren't the ones that tie his wrists. They are the ones nobody can see. He wouldn't know how to live without a king anymore.

If only there were a way.

* * *

My father always said I inherited his family's ability to get into places nobody else could- places nobody else should. Generations of rebels, troublemakers, and marauders color our family tree. I suppose it should be no surprise that when tasked with the ministry's prized secret that I find all their dirty little ones.

Every handler Telum has had since the beginning went through a ceremony. It was an oath, a changing of the guard, and a ritual all in one. Only the highest ranked Unspeakables know the details of everything behind it. As an apprentice I should only be able to access the journals of passed handlers or the memory pool though the latter isn't really advertised.

If I am going to do this there is only one place to go.

Everything I've found has led me here. Past the stacks, deeper than The Black Archives. I just wish I could prepare for what I might find. This is the place where secrets go to never be found. Telum isn't the only horrible project the ministry has tucked away in its attic. There are probably countless others. My warrior is simply the most useful.

PROJECT 09.05.1998a7

Telum's project. Sterile, clinical, heartless. Everything they made him into. Everything they did to do it. The uncensored sum of his project...everything that wasn't in the Black Archives is past that door. I'll find my answer there. I have to. I saw in that memory that the dark lord had control of him worse than the imperius curse. The Dark Lord could have ordered him to do anything and he would have no choice. Worse still he would be aware of it while his body carried out its task. Maybe there's some kind of way to break it, to free Telum from his handlers. Maybe he could be hidden away somewhere...foolish dreams. Where do you hide a man who only knows being a weapon? How do I know he wouldn't just kill us all for what has been done?

I don't.

But this is the right thing to do.

I light my wand and start down the winding staircase of the project vault. This project's personal archives are greater than I had ever thought. Almost a century of tests, missions, studies...anything that an Unspeakable ever wondered about an immortal man was tucked away here. There must be thousands of journals stored here. Artifacts they tested on him...even the results of all his execution attempts.

As I wander deeper into the vault the air turns more stale. The journals and artifacts lining the shelves are all coated in thick layers of dust and the shelves they sit on are marked with old dates counting down.

The passage ends in a rounded towerlike room with more journals filling towering lofty shelves. The dust here was thicker than anywhere before but like the spiraling stairs I just stepped down a lighter path was cut through on the floor. It was a direct path to the center alone where a single tank stood as a central pillar.

It was an octagonal tank standing on a black slate base. While the base came past my hips the tank loomed over me. It glowed a pale bluish green and its glass was hazy as if the inside glass was frosted over. As I look closer I see it. There's a shadow hidden behind the dust and grime.

With a murmured spell I can see that the surface isn't hexed, cursed, or any sort of harmful. That's good at least. As I wipe away years of time settled on the glass my heart stops. The shadow...it wasn't some kind of creature to be studied. It wasn't a decaying specimen in a jar. It was a little boy.

A little boy with pale skin and sable curls...A little boy who looks just like Harry Potter once did.

He can't be more than five at most. He's pale and his chest isn't moving but there's no sign of rot or anything else...Is he truely dead? Who is this little boy?

Around the base of the tank were strings of runes. I can only recognize a few of them...something to do with time. There's a tag attached to the tank's pedestal….

KIRAN POTTER

July 12 1996

This is how we've done it...This is how our ministry has controlled an immortal for nearly a century. The handler's ceremony...they would mix the blood of his son...the blood of the dark lord that created him, with ours.

I can't let this continue...

The line ends with me.

* * *

Its finally time.

I have enough information in my hands I could destroy them and everything they have ever built. Miles of dark secrets laid bare before my eyes and they are all going to fall today. They just don't know it yet.

"You have done so well Aurore. We are all so proud to have you carrying this legacy onwards." My apprentice master panders to me as he does everyone else...well everyone but Telum. Telum scares the old man I think. Though I don't know what he did to do so. His words of wisdom have always been 'Never trust your back to that thing.'

"Thank you Handler Dimmit. Its an honor to have been trained by you." I think I might have gagged a little on those words.

"Let us begin." A basin already filled with blood stands on the pedestal and a black bladed knife laid at its side.

The head unspeakable chants lowly under his breath before handing the dagger to my master.

The dagger is drawn across my palm with barely any force at all. But it's sharp enough it cuts quick and deep before I even feel it.

I hold my dripping hand over the blood filled basin- Kiran's blood. The blood of Telum's only son. I feel sick but I have to. This has to be done to free him once and for all.

"I relieve you Handler Dimmit."

"And I welcome you Handler Lupin."

"The guard is changed." The unspeakable tones the end of the ritual. It's time.

I march towards Telum's cell.

His cell is as good a place as any for this. Almost poetic in a way. This cell was where Harry Potter was imprisoned and where he died. Its where Telum was born, and now its where he will be freed.

There he is- my Telum.

The once hero- Harry Potter.

Chained and lashed in one place never meant to move until permission is given. He hovers in his blue tinted magical containment with arms and legs held aloft by braided steel ropes like some sick mockery of a hamster ball. From a distance he looks so helpless and small. No one would ever guess the power that his compact lithe body holds. From a distance you cant tell that his slender limbs are lined with deadly cablewire taut muscles. From a distance nobody would ever guess this is the man that could destroy a world as easily as he could save it. He looks like an angel fallen asleep. Closeness strips all those illusions away leaving only the ugly battle beaten truth behind. Those dancer's limbs could shatter bone and steal breath. His pale skin is not luminous but sickly with poisonous scars crisscross every visible inch of his body. His dark inky hair has been left to grow wild again with thick snarls weaving mane and unkempt beard everyone else whose been a part of his captivity he is the very image of the devil with clipped wings.

I can feel his sightless eyes on me as I enter. Those ruined milky scarred eyes track me like every other being he's ever been exposed to. Nothing escapes Telum's unseeing gaze. Another mystery that no one will ever be allowed to solve. He's been prepared for this day for the last five years but not in the way he thinks. He probably believed it would simply be one jailer changing to another.

"I was initiated today. I'm now officially your handler." He doesn't make a sound, even the few he can. He doesn't reach for my mind either. I begin to unlash him from the dampening field. He simply stands before me like a broken doll, a marionette held standing with frayed strings.

"Telum, this will be my first and last directive to you as your handler. I am sending you on a mission." I hold up the book I've spent the last five years as an apprentice building. I pull his hand over the journal hoping for some kind of response...any response. But still there is no emotion or ticks in his scarred face.

"This is everything you are Telum. When you find your new king you give this to him. I don't know his name only that he is a dark lord." I tuck the book into Telum's robes. Still he doesn't reach for my mind. He's resigned….to what, I'd rather not contemplate.

"Telum...I don't know if you are going to have another handler after me but please as my only command, I order to you follow your new king."

"Merlin and Morgana bless your path and have mercy on your soul." I raise the talismen I had stolen and let its will be done. Years of research and planning have all led up to this. A deafening boom fills the silent room and with a great flash Telum is gone with not a trace that he'd ever been.

Please forgive me my Telum. I only want you to be whole. Maybe one day you'll be happy.

Please forgive me.

* * *

* So thinking about it the fluid in a pensive is probably based on the river Lethe, the river of forgetfulness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance

Main Characters:

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

* * *

A/N: Yeah so if anybody hasn't figured it out yet this story is going to be dark and creepy. Definitely more angst than romance for sure. It isn't Harry/Tom its a future Harry/Voldemort. So its not cute and sweet it is dark and obsessive and all around generally not what anyone should base a healthy functioning relationship on.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: A Sword For A King**

FLASH!

A nova burst forth without warning blinding them all.

BOOM!

A crash like thunder suddenly filled the hall with a chorus of 'Protago!' echoing in its wake, and like that the golden glow of thirty shield spells were cast at once.

As the dust cleared they saw an unconscious man laying in a shallow crater of cracked marble where no one had been before the blast, laying prone at the feet of the dark lord himself. Tattered grey robes and wild thicket of black mane and beard were the only things visible of the man from the gathering.

" _Enuverate."_ The dark lord hissed with displeasure. But the spell seemed to dissipate as it struck the stranger's skin. There was no sign that it worked at all.

" _Resipisco."_ He enunciated the stronger spell. But there was no change. Blue waves of electricity...or perhaps magic itself rippled over the man's flesh.

.

.

"Gibbons." He called towards the black cloaked crowd.

"Yes my lord?" The healer answered with a barely trembling voice.

"Collect this man. He is now under your care."

"Yes my lord." The healer tried to levitate the man only to be met with minimum success. White waves of magic rippled on the man's skin the longer Gibbons tried to levitate him. With the assistance of another the healer gathered the newcomer and carried him off

"The rest of you leave." The black cloaked room wasted no time in fleeing from their lord. As much as they feared him the fear of an unknown that was not affected by his magic was much stronger. The chance to get away from both was nothing less than absolute relief.

As the hall emptied the dark lord sank back in his throne. Why had his spell not worked? More importantly how had that man gotten through his wards? He had questions that needed answers and soon.

* * *

Two days later he confronted his healer.

"You've had days Gibbons. Who is he?"

"I don't know my lord. No one does."

"A nominus charm?" Really it was a simple enough charm. Was it so hard to know the name of a man?

"Dissipated as soon as it touched his skin like all the others. Its lucky he wasn't more seriously injured as well. If this is his natural state...I wouldn't be able to do anything to help him.

"Then we shall have to wait and ask him then."

"That may be difficult my lord. There is extensive damage to his body including his vocal cords. It is doubtful that he can speak at all. If he can...I would be surprised if he was sane enough to know."

"I will be the judge of that."

"Of course my lord."

"What is it Gibbons?"

"Its just...Speaking as a healer alone my lord, I've never seen anything like this man. I don't know anything smaller than an erumpet that can throw off spells like he is. He's throwing them off like I was aiming at a giant or a dragon and he's not even conscious." If he was capable of such a feat Merlin only knows what injured him.

"You don't believe he is human?" That would certainly explain his own lack of results. Anyone else revived by the dark lord wouldn't sleep for a week.

"I don't know what to think my lord. I'm sorry but I truly don't."

"Alert me when he wakes."

"Yes my lord."

* * *

Days passed without word from Gibbons to inform him of his 'guest's' awakening. By a week's passing he had grown tired of waiting and he found himself stalking the corridor of the man's room.

His strange visitor still laid unmoving in the bed Gibbons had placed him in. Luckily cleansing charms seemed to work well enough. His bramble bush covered head was propped upon pillows while his hands were laid limply over the cream sheet. Sunlight glinted off the silver gauntlets adorning his wrists. But they weren't ornaments it would seem. They had loops in their outer sides, loops meant for chains and binding. They weren't gauntlets to protect at all, they were manacles. Someone had wanted him to stay put and not by his choice either by the looks of things.

For whatever reason he felt the need to speak his mind no matter if the man could hear him or not.

"My people tell me that you can't talk, apparently your vocal cords are all but gone- utterly ruined were their exact words. Personally I'm impressed they managed to learn that much from you all things considered. Perhaps you spoke the wrong thing to someone once...that would be fitting. They also say that you are likely mad from torture. I believe differently. I have seen many people tortured to madness. I've driven quite a few of them there myself. You look nothing like them. So many scars. All placed at different times by their look. I wonder how old you really are... You aren't mad, no. I wager you wished you could be.

The stranger's eyes didn't open nor did his breathing change to indicate that he had woken but his magic had an edge to it now that the dark lord could taste. He was powerful.

"Even if you can't speak you aren't mad. You are blind but you are aware of my presence. You can see without eyes I wonder if you can speak without a voice."

 _ **I can.**_ A soft voice sounded in his mind like someone left a message taped to his occlumency shields. Interestingly nothing even tried to slip through, obviously this was his means of communication and had likely been so for some time.

"Interesting. A form of legimancy perhaps. Crude but effective, I suppose. Why did you come here?"

 _ **I was sent to my new king.**_ "Who sent you? Who is your 'king'?"

 _ **My handler sent me. She only said that The Dark Lord is to be my king.**_

"Interesting."

"I am the Lord Voldemort. I am the dark lord."

 _ **The true half of your statement is all that concerns me, my king. My handler sent this for you.**_ Rage and annoyance fluttered like bats in the back of the dark lord's mind. No one dared to tell him he was lying whether it was the truth or not. Yet this man called him on it and brushed it aside in the same breath.

A dark red journal was pulled from his tattered robes and placed at the edge of the bed with a letter tied to its cover. Silently he let his magic scan them both, checking for traps or trickery. Finding none he pulled the letter loose and read.

.

.

 _My name is Aurore Lupin. I'm only hoping that the correct person is reading this now. Though if you weren't I doubt you would have convinced Telum that you were. He always knows when someone is lying._

 _I send this and him to you knowing I will probably die. Even if I am not found, if he succeeds in all likelihood I will never have existed._

 _History is written in the eyes of the victors. I don't know who you are or what kind of man you might truly have been. But you started this. I've seen the archives, the memories they've stolen from Telum. You made him what he is so he will be safest with you. He has to be._

 _I've gathered all that I can about what was done to him, the training that they've made him endure. All of it is in this book. There is a lot more to it than it looks I assure you that. The journal attached to this letter contains almost a century's worth of experiments and torture to create a magical weapon. I've learned things about this place in my time here. They'll never let him go. That's why I had to do this. You are his new king. Telum will obey your orders whatever they may be._

 _With hope for a better future,_

 _Aurore Lupin_

.

.

"Your handler called you Telum. Is that your name?"

 _ **I have no name. I am a weapon. Aurore was young and sentimental. She was always looking for something human in me.**_

"Was she wrong?"

 _ **I am a weapon.**_

"That isn't what I asked. I asked was your handler wrong." The soundless voice didn't answer him.

 _ **Yes.**_

"I don't believe she was as wrong as you think. You've been lying or lied to for a long time I think. But no matter. I have been called similar. It makes no difference to me."

"Stand, let me look at you." The silent man stood without question. He certainly didn't move like he had just spent a week laying unconscious. He opened sightless eyes and stood before the dark lord.

He had the body of a dancer, small and lithe. Beneath his robes it was clear that his muscles were taut like cable wire. His face was mostly hidden by snarled locks of wild raven black hair so dark it was almost blue when light caught it and an untamed beard. What little he could see past that was a network of scars. It was a face of captivity. Too long without sun and proper care. Every inch of visible skin was scared. Some old and faded, some angry and new. Silver lines layered and blended with ropey knots of flesh. His milky blind eyes bore a long scar drawn almost from temple to temple marring skin and oculus alike. Perhaps the remnant of a well aimed slashing hex. Though how it got past his skin's protection was perhaps a feat unto itself. No civilized person would believe this man turned feral to be attractive. In the eyes of a barely human dark lord he was a magnificent creature. There was a beauty hidden away from the sight of normal men. The air around him thrummed with power. This being wasn't clay, as most tended to be, but a diamond raw from the earth. This man would serve him. He would see to that.

"What did your former king have you do?"

 _ **Anything they needed. If they were under attack, I protected them. If they wanted victory, I fought their wars. If they needed silence, I ended their competition.**_

It would seem that he was made for what the dark lord had in mind. "You will serve me and my cause without fail."

 _ **Yes.**_

"Good. Lord Voldemort rewards success. Should you fail you will be punished. Betray me and death would be kind."

 _ **I give my life and service. They are yours to do with as you wish my king.**_

"You shall address me as you lord or master."

 _ **Yes my lord.**_

"Tell me what have you been called in the past? I'll not call you weapon in this language or any other."

 _ **I have been called many things, my lord. Telum, Monster, freak, demon, creature, beast, Master of Death, Lord Peverell, undead, The Undying, The Immortal, The Prisoner, The Soldier, The Warrior. Or any combination thereof are common ones, my lord.**_

"Azrael."

"From now on you are Azrael."


	5. Chapter 5

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance

Main Characters: Harry Potter, Voldemort

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

 **A/N:** Chapter warnings...grossness, general creepiness, and torture.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Welcome to the Family**

 _"Morsmordre."_

 _A pained scream rang out echoing off the dungeon walls. They had come from a shirtless boy that was restrained, both by chains holding his arms aloft and the dark lord who's arm acted as a bar across his neck and shoulders. His face was hidden behind a curtain of shaggy black hair as his cries echoed. The pale serpent man held his glowing wand tip to the boy's bare chest. Black shades spread over the flesh as if ink had been dropped into a pool of water. The boy screamed again and again and his skin seemed to pulse. His hands started to darken and what looked like shards of dark glass began to force themselves out of his skin. Sharp spines were visible peeking through the boy's thicket of dark hair._

 _"Remain human for the moment." With the dark lord's words the small changes ceased and returned to normal._

 _"Shh now, it will be over soon, dear boy."_

 _"Liar." The boy hissed. His body was slack despite the agony painted in his voice. It was as if he had no ability to fight back against the mage's hold and burning wand._

 _The shades spilling from the dark lord's wand took shape in the ever hauntingly familiar pattern of the dark mark._

 _A choked sob shook the boy's small frame. It was clear he realized what the mark meant for him._

 _"Lie still." The dark lord ordered softly. The tremors ceased immediately in display of a bizarre level of control. The pale man's wand was drawn back further from the boy's marked skin._

 _Quick slashes of the bone white wand tore the square of newly marked flesh from the boy's chest. Again his screams filled the air. But his body did not move. Blood welled and pooled profusely in the open wound. From a pocket of his robes the dark lord pulled a shimmering clear vial._

 _Three drops of the potion closed the wound leaving unmarked skin behind._

 _"It's gone." Happiness and disbelief filled the boy's young voice._

 _"The brand may be gone the mark remains." A shocked gasp fell from the boy's lips and his body sagged with hopelessness._

 _"I can call upon you as I wish and you will have no choice but to come. But rest easy, pet. No one will know whom you serve. You will be safe." He whispered gently. White spider-like hands caressed the boy's tangled locks in a attempt at a comforting gesture._

 _"You are mine Harry Potter."_

 _"And Lord Voldemort protects what is his."_

 _._

 _._

Voldemort rubbed his eyes wearily. Watching these memories took its toll on him. He had been studying Azrael's book for many hours by now. He had learned spells to force magic on the man's resistant skin and that he had been marked in his own time. Mostly they just proved that healing the impervious man was a potion master's task more than anything.

He was searching for a reason for Azrael's existence and the method that his handler used to break past his wards. So far the closest he had to an idea was the unbranded mark. After all that was how his followers were keyed into the wards. If that was the case he had nothing to worry about in his wards. If it was something else he doubted that anyone else would have the know how to match a unspeakable witch from at least a century in the future.

" _Morsmordre_." he pointed his wand to a piece of parchment and his mark began to etch itself at the command.

Holding his wand tip to the parchment he called for the mark's magic. "Azrael." He spoke clearly. There was still a chance that his mark would not activate. Whether that be because of the spell not being linked to his current mark or his use of a different name it was still possible.

However it would seem he was not to be disappointed. Azrael appeared before him in an instant and utterly silent as he had come to expect in all things the blind warrior did.

 _ **My lord**_. Azrael bowed before him.

"Azrael. With me." He stood gracefully before leaving his study. He had no doubt that the blind man would follow, however he managed to do that was beyond him for the moment. He would remedy that soon enough he was sure.

"You had no wand in your possession when you appeared. See if any of these wands suit you." There were dozens of wands that he and his followers had collected after skirmishes. Backups were always well sought after even taking into account their questionable legality.

The newly named Azrael ran his index finger down the line until one shot off sparks at his touch. In his warped perception of the world it was like a lantern showing him the way. He held it and felt warm in a way he never had been in his memory.

 _ **This one.**_

"Black Walnut and Dragon Heartstring, 11 ¾ inches, supple" The dark mage read off the tag that had been attached to it.

 _ **If I am to be named so should it.**_

"As you wish." It was a strange request but the dark lord saw no reason to deny it.

 _ **Darksight**_ The wand in his hand thrummed as if in response to the name it was given.

 _ **Thank you my lord.**_

"Your thanks are unnecessary. I need to see what you can do for myself. Attack me."

The dark haired man spared no thought as he sprung into action at his new lord's order. Blasts of light came from his hand and wand both as he tracked his target with unrelenting will. The dark lord smiled viciously and gave as good as he got making sure to dodge and block every nameless spell thrown at him. Azrael in turn didn't seem to bother shielding from any but the most powerful and vile of his lord's hexes choosing instead to let his impervious skin take the blows.

"Enough." With that single word he had a battle scarred mage bowing before him with a sheathed wand.

"You are strong without a doubt but you don't observe any of the niceties of a wizard's duel." There was something exhilarating about facing an opponent powerful enough to stand on even ground that would bow before him. If he hadn't already seen the few memories and notes he had he'd never trust this to be true.

 _ **I don't think I have ever had one before.**_

"I will have to teach you myself then." Azrael nodded silently in response.

"In formal dueling you and your opponent bow to each other. Normally there would be an observed distance. It would either be the length of the dueling platform in the professional circuit or in official conflict, seventeen paces from midpoint. A total of thirty four paces between you and your opponent."

"You are obviously more accustomed to open warfare. Though I have to say if it weren't for your skin's unique properties your technique wouldn't be nearly as effective."

 _ **Facing a large number is different than facing one man.**_

"Oh?"

 _ **Twenty wizards working together can take down a dragon with few problems. As you said my skin wouldn't offer much protection.**_

"You believe that I can not fuel enough power to damage you?"

 _ **I believe you can. I also know that you didn't.**_

"Interesting observation."

"In any matter when dueling a single opponent officially behaving in such a manner would be an insult. No matter if your skin absorbs or dissipates the hexes it would be saying that your opponent is weak and not worth the effort to shield or dodge. They would be within their rights to use unforgivables on your person."

 _ **They won't work.**_

"They won't...you mean to say that your skin protects you from death, torture, and loss of self?"

 _ **The Imperius does nothing at all. I don't know if that is from my skin or something else. The Cruciatus gets through my skin but seems less effective on me than others. But the killing curse doesn't do anything. I'm immortal.**_

"Regardless, it is more polite to raise a shield or dodge when your opponent casts at you.

"Come along I believe we have both worked up an appetite.

* * *

The blind man stood to the side his nose twitched at the scent of food but he didn't move to take a seat.

 _ **I can't die of hunger.**_

"Do you feel it?"

 _ **Yes.**_

"Then eat. You may not die from it but if you feel it your body obviously needs to be fed."

 _ **You won't return me to the field?**_

"As I have no idea what you are referring I can't answer that. Explain."

 _ **I was kept in a field before...a bubble of magic that kept me in fighting shape. I needn't be trained or fed there.**_  
"No. To do so would be a waste of time and magic better served for other things. You will eat when you feel hungry. I won't have you falling out from negligence. As for training you will continue to do so on your own time. You may not allow yourself to become weak in my service."

 _ **Yes, my lord.**_

"What was your last meal before this?"

 ** _Battle Mage rations I believe, during the last conflict I fought in._** Unseen by the other party the dark lord's face took on an annoyed angry scowl. Even he would not deny food to one of his own. It offended him in a deep set way as one who remembered the wartime rations from his own childhood.

"Eat well, tonight you will be introduced to my forces."

 _ **I will.**_

* * *

The man who stood before them was a far cry from the one that had appeared. His face was clean shaven and gone were the matted black tangles. In their place soft inky locks feathered down to his shoulders. Hideous scars still laced every visible inch of his hide but they were now a history rather than a state of being. There was still something about this man...something unsettling, something dangerous.

"I introduce to you Azrael. Many of you were present when our new friend came to me some were not. His arrival was perhaps not as graceful as it could have been but we welcome him none the less."

From the far corner of the first row a cough could be heard from one of the masked men, one with a length of blonde hair.

"Abraxus, you doubt our new friend's place among us."

"I would never doubt you my lord."

"Then it is him you doubt. Perhaps a duel then to make a point."

"My lord."

"Yes I believe that should do nicely." "Azrael." The dark haired man stepped forward at his lord's command.

"Your only rule is you may not kill the other party." Though the words were said to them both they were aimed at the dark haired stranger.

The man tilted his head at the dark lord in an arrogance no one had dared display so openly before their lord.

"Yes, you are right. There is not enough space for a proper duel. Half the measured space then." the man nodded.

The two men bowed and took stance. One emotionless and the other wearing haughty superiority like armor.

"Begin."

Wands were drawn and spells were cast rapidly with utmost precision. Every spell reached him to be shielded against or dodged in turn

There was no way this ruffian was truly blind. Every spell he cast was either blocked or dodged while the former vagabond remained eerily accurate sticking with disgustingly light and childish spells.

After a good deal of time Abraxus found himself gasping for breath after such extensive exertion and spell-work but the stranger didn't look any more ruffled than when they had started.

Enraged he began casting darker and more powerful spells only to be met with the same results. Angered he brought his wand down in an overpowered slashing hex only to find that this time the urchin did not dodge or block but took the brunt of it head on and stood virtually unscathed. Horror set in as the nobleman realized why he hadn't moved. The dark lord himself was standing at the stranger's back

"Do you believe me incapable of shielding from Abraxus myself Azrael?" The dark haired man shook his head in negative. Blind eyes faced their lord who hummed in response. To the crowd around them it seemed as their lord was powerful enough to snatch thoughts from a blind man's mind.

"It would seem that he believes your pride not worth harming you, Abraxus." A pink flush colored the blond man's masked face and tinted his still visible ears. "Perhaps that is something for you to remember next time you question my judgment. I am not so kind to your foolishness as Azrael seems to be."

"My friends let us welcome Azrael to our fold."

* * *

Azrael's new wand: Darksight- Black Walnut and Dragon Heartstring. His new wand actually says a lot about the man he became and will become. He is someone who has been broken and remolded and set to find himself. He's someone who was a good man once that has been beaten and tortured into apathy and twisted to serve the dark side.

Wand Lore::

Black Walnut:: Highly empathetic to the inner turmoil of its wielder. Black walnut reacts poorly to deceptive wielders. Those with good instincts and powerful insight are the best matches for black walnut wands.

Dragon Heartstring:: noted for producing powerful magic and flamboyant spells. But they are temperamental, being more prone to wild flares of magic that cause accidents. These wands are the easiest of the Supreme Cores to turn to the Dark Arts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance

Main Characters: Harry Potter, Voldemort

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

 **A/N:** Chapter warnings...mostly just more Stockholm syndrome level mind screwy stuff. And a few more glimpses into Azrael's past.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: An Angel's Wings**

Miles from anywhere, in the dark bowels of a castle that could not be laid to map, a dark cloaked man gave a hesitant report. Danger followed every action he took with this deed. Serving two masters was forever a balancing act and he feared soon he would fall. He could only pray for his safety should it go on.

.

.

"A man appeared in the middle of a death eater meeting."

"A new member?"

"He is now." The cloaked man took a breath before continuing.

"He arrived during the first meeting that his followers were dismissed from. They were dismissed when the dark lord himself could not revive the man. Before that meeting no one had ever seen him before, not even the dark lord. He may as well have sprung up from the ground for all that is known. Yet he was presented last night standing next to the dark lord's throne."

"I see. That is troubling."

"That is hardly the most distressing part. He came from nowhere. A man with no history, who managed to break past the dark lord's wards, has sworn fealty to him"

"What is the measure of this man, I wonder? Is there a way to convince him away from him."

"He has no measure. He's nothing more than a broken doll that dances for the dark lord."

* * *

Voldemort sat at his desk with a small book in hand. The volume before him was indeed much more than it appeared. It was the sum of Azrael's history. The slim journal had an endless page charm like his own boyhood diary, as well as charms similar to a pensive. Both these sets of charms made this little book quite possibly one of the single most valuable resources he had at his disposal. It was a century's research and study of an immortal man with entries studying him from every possible angle. This little book held thousands of unspeakables' journals, studies, and tests regarding that one man. A man whose existence fascinated him so.

.

.

 _April 16th, 1999_

 _The weapon's son has been studied extensively. It is truly a remarkable creature, a credit to the wizard that created them both for sure. Even after all this time we have found no way to replicate the last great dark lord's creation. Whatever abomination the son is, was only able to infect the father. For the time being we have found that a blood sharing ritual grants a greater deal of control to the weapon's handlers. Our first attempts were disastrous. The creature in the son's blood, while it couldn't change them, it did affect them. It drove most of them mad. The few it didn't all had a creature heritage historically in their lines. They spoke of senses they had never felt before. We then tried to use handlers with a creature heritage. Pure creature handlers died almost instantly their bodies rejected the blood sharing and burned themselves up. Half-breeds didn't die immediately but stayed ill for some time before expiring. We went through every iteration we could think of and dozens of species. We have found that handlers with veela bloodlines, anything less than a quarter, did not have the initial reaction to the blood sharing that others did. However the control is not absolute as we believe the dark lord's was. Any attempt to pass the trait from handler to handler proved fruitless. It would seem the blood of the son is as diluted as the control will allow._

 _We have come to believe that there must have been some kind of mind altering potion in the original dark lord's blood that allows for this effect. Whatever it was still eludes us. The sample in the son's blood is too degraded for us to trace. If we had known what we do now back then we could have taken a sample from the dark lord's body._

.

.

This entry was truly...enlightening. The handler woman's actions made a bit of sense now. Azrael was a creature of his own creation as was his son it would seem. She had desired his safety and seemed to think that the man who created him would be where he was safest. It also explained the memories he had seen before of the dark haired boy, Harry. He didn't fight back while being marked because he couldn't defy his lord. It was why the mark took even though the boy had been clearly against it. His will was surmountable by the dark lord's own.

There was a magical photo attached to the page. A young boy perhaps three or four running around a stone room, a cell if he guessed right. He had short curls of black hair and green eyes so bright they glowed like an oncoming killing curse. He lept into the arms of a man...Azrael, he was young and far less scarred. Only the line crossing his blind eyes and the jagged ropelike one trickling down his cheek were present on his face. There was so much emotion on Azrael's face, emotion he'd never seen the silent warrior show. It was obvious from the display that he didn't know the picture was being taken. Early in his blindness then. The man who stood at his side would never allow anyone to sneak upon him.

Closing the book once more he left to find his newest servant.

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

Unsurprisingly he found him in the hall that they had first dueled in dodging dummy spells from practice opponents.

"The journals say you had a son." The silent man seemed to freeze in time. Eight dummy spells suddenly collided with his impenetrable hide before dissipating in a shower of sparks before he responded.

 _ **Once.**_ There was a odd sort of pain in his stance. As if he was held standing by force of habit while some unknown emotion tried to force him to his knees. An old wound then. One that had never had the chance to heal.

 _ **His name was Kiran.**_

"A beam of light?" Curious thing to name a child of a dark being.

"You can't remember who or what you were before this but you remember your son's name?" Interesting if not a little odd.

 _ **They took him from me in the beginning. I know I was a man once….a long time ago. But I don't remember it. I can barely remember him.**_

"What happened?"

 _ **I defied them. First they took my voice. Then my sight. Then they took my son. I fought them but still lost him. That was when they put these on my wrists.**_ He held up the silver manacles that still adorned his wrists. _**I don't know how much time has passed since then.**_

"According to the notes made by your former handler. You have been in captivity for ninety seven years."

 _ **Feels longer.**_

"It likely was. A number of the tests they ran on you were done under the influence of Time Turners. Perhaps it would be better to say to everyone else you were captive for ninety seven years."

The dark lord found himself met with absolute silence. It would appear that small talk was both too dark a subject and something Azrael had no input on.

"I have studied the runes on your cuffs. I believe I can remove them from you now." Azrael's right hand clasped over its brother's manacle rubbing it and twisting it in thought. After much hesitation he offered his metal bound wrist to his master. The dark lord took both his servant's wrists in hand and waved his wand in complex patterns over the cuffs. The cursed objects reacted to the dark lord's magic and glowed brightly before going cold once more. A single line was traced down each with the tip of his wand leaving a seam behind that sprung open when he finished. The century old manacles fell loudly to the marble in a heap.

Azrael rubbed both his wrists seemingly in disbelief that the part of his prison that he carried with him was now gone. A strange look crossed the scarred man's face a split second before he began to change.

Just as in the memory of Harry's mark Azrael changed but this time he didn't stop. Glass shards peeked through skin that darkened. A crest of spines crowned his head. Fingernails grew to sharp talons and dragon-like feet ripped apart his shoes. Great black wings spread from his back, jointed at the center just under his natural shoulder blades.

The scars on his face stretched and pulled as his maw extended just slightly and his features grew more elfish and sharp.

His name never suited him more than that moment. Azrael truly looked the part of the angel of death.

Tentatively he spread his wings and claws. If what he had said was true then it had been nearly a century since they had.

The feathers of his wings were actually strong hardened scales that resembled darkly shadowed glass. The largest of them was as long as a short sword and easily as sharp. They tapered down in size as the came closer to his body. From the dagger sized outer scales to the softer underscales no bigger than his thumbnail.

"Can you fly with them?" The didn't seem particularly aerodynamic but neither did dragons' and they were fearsome beasts in the air.

A strange yet beautiful chorus of ringing of bells entered his mind. It confused him for a moment before he realized that was what Azrael's laughter and pure happiness sounded like.

 _ **That and more my lord.**_ Azrael's vicious teeth were drawn into a smile. How long had it been since this man had anything to smile for?

* * *

This Dark Lord is like no king I've ever served before. He is a proud man certainly but not in the way others have been. In the past my kings have bloated their egos on my power and their position. My lord is confident in his own power and with right to be. I have never met another class seven warlock in all my years much less served one. His magic permeates everything around him. To these dead eyes of mine he looks as I've heard people describe stars.

He smells of aged paper, sage, cedar, and snake. His voice sounds like velvet feels. When he walks every stride is soft but purposeful, powerful even. In our duel I could hear it, his legs were strong and his reflexes were honed as sharp as any human's could be...perhaps more. To any normal being his steps would be silent, deadly as an assassin. I will never know his face as others do and for the first time I find myself wishing I could. I wish to see this man I now serve. I have no doubt he will not let me see with my hands of that I am sure.

He doesn't wish me to be idle like my past kings. Nor is he for that matter. My lord is constantly moving, constantly thinking and planning. Even when he has no plans to attend he is still in motion. He trains his magic to a deadly precision. Every spell is cast in an instant...and it is like nothing I've ever felt.

He acts like no one I've ever observed. After so long of always knowing...of everything being the same, I ...I am fond of my new king.

It is strange to me. This man who trusts no one still places more trust in me than anyone in my memory. He named me not a weapon but as a being. Perhaps not human still but of worth. I've listened to others when they think no one can hear. My lord was correct in others thinking him monstrous. But I have not found anything to despise in this man. He has killed and will kill. He has tortured and will do so again. But so have I. It is the way of things, my king orders and never do I ask why.

But it feels much different. My king doesn't hide behind a handler and guards holding me. His word is my law and it is given to me from his voice. I'm not a sword on a dusty shelf. I'm not made to hurt by wizards wanting to know how I work. I'm not locked away cut from my remaining senses.

My king is many things but I believe he is no monster.

He gave me back my wings.


	7. Chapter 7

**Broken Dolls Wield Rusted Swords**

Fandom: Harry Potter

Genre: Horror/Angst/Mystery/Romance

Main Characters: Harry Potter, Voldemort

Pairing: Harry Potter/ Voldemort

Rating: M

Full Summary: When the present is so very wrong the only hope is the past. When you give a king a sword all you can hope is that he will use it wisely. In a dark future the immortal man, Harry Potter, is a prisoner turned weapon for the people he once saved. But a single hope finds him and sends him back in time where a broken man might one day find himself again. Unfortunately his savior doesn't know the Dark Lord. Without memory and only ordered to serve, Harry is rocketed back into the past during Voldemort's first rise.

 **A/N:** Story getting progressively darker sorry folks its kinda writing itself and I'm along for the ride with the rest of you.

 **Chapter warning**...mentions and implications of past noncon, possessive behavior(definitely seems like objectification), and more Stockholm syndrome.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** It shouldn't need to be said but I quite obviously own none of these characters or their world. My wallet firmly agrees with me on this- it has pocket lint.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Beauty in His Eyes**

Again as fate and every other power of annoyance would have it Voldemort found himself in his office. Reading the progress and situation reports of his followers was perhaps one of his least favorite things in all of existence right behind any dealing with Albus Dumbledore.

Azrael stood silently in the corner looking for all the world like a painted statue.

"Is there nothing you can help with?" The dark lord asked with slight irritation coating his words.

 _ **I am at your command, my lord.**_

"I require you to be able to make some decisions on your own. You are not a child." A thought occurred to him as he chastised the battlemage

"Do you even know what I intend? What I desire?"

 _ **No, my lord. It is not my place.**_

"Perhaps it should be. I am not always with you to command you on missions. At those times it is up to you to fulfill your duties to my benefit. You will be required to make calls of your own judgement to what will further my goals."

 _ **If you believe it so it shall be done.**_

"Do you truly feel nothing? Want nothing?" He knew it couldn't be so. Azrael's smile when his wings were returned to him said enough on the matter.

 _ **I need nothing my lord.**_ The Dark Lord sighed deeply.

"You are not a machine, Azrael. You are not a house elf. You serve Lord Voldemort. You are powerful that is plain to see. Your obedience is refreshing and your loyalty is honorable. However you have made it clear to me now that loyalty and obedience alone are not enough."

 _ **What is it you require of me my lord?**_

"You can't live your life without the confines of your prison's rules can you?"

 _ **I am unsure of how to answer my lord.**_

"Very well then. Stand." The sable haired mage stands without hesitation.

* * *

.

.

He felt the air and magic move around him as his lord circled. He was prey here to a predator far greater than any lion could ever hope to be.

"You will bow to no other than I. I am your lord. I am your only master."

"You will not speak to any other as you do me. Your mind's voice will only reach for my own."

"You will not try to influence or control my mind. You will not succeed and you will be punished."

"You may ask me any question. I reserve my right to answer or not as I see fit."

"You are allowed to find enjoyment wherever you so desire provided that you return to serve when you are needed and it does not interfere with my plans."

"You are allowed to seek any knowledge you wish unless I say otherwise."

I can feel every order tie tighter around me than they ever have before. No handler has had such iron will as my lord. I can't help but find it fascinating...No it is forbidden. However he said that I may seek any knowledge. Does this include him? I have never wanted to know anyone before.

"Any questions?"

 _ **You wish me to live like a man.**_

"You are a man, Azrael." My lord sighs. I am unsure of whether or not to believe him. He is not young and foolish like Aurore was nor is he sentimental like the others before her were. His heart never fluttered from rhythm as he spoke so he believes this to be true.

"What was done to you forced you to believe otherwise but you are a man." Again his heartbeat never wavers. He is absolutely sure his words are truth.

 _ **I don't know how.**_

"You do. You just have to remember." My lord returns to his seat leaving me flat-footed and unsure. It's been years since I've been so caught off guard as this man has managed.

"I am intimately aware of how my followers think it's how I plan around flukes to prevent failure of greater aims. I've learned how to predict each and every one of them. Except you. You remain a mystery that I can not seem to solve."

 _ **I will not fail.**_ I will do as he says. Somehow I will find a way to walk among men and pretend to be one of them.

"My other followers, they came to me in search of power, promises of greatness. Few of them even serve me because they believe in our cause not just what it will give them. But you. You were given to me as if you were nothing more than a bottle of whiskey for yule. You are out of your own time so none of this matters to you. You swore yourself to my cause before you even knew my aims so the end result doesn't interest you either. As it stands you have as much stake in this as if you were imperiused. Truly the only difference is that you are aware of what you do under my command."

 _ **You wish to know my mind so you may better order me.**_

"That is part of it yes. Everyone is driven by something, some goal or desire. You don't seem to be. I have Merlin knows how many journals and studies of you in my possession but none of them answer who you are or why you do the things you do. They all say the same thing 'it's dangerous, it's powerful, it can't be trusted.' I have seen none of these observations. In fact I find all but the most clinical studies of your abilities to be completely worthless to me. I want you to tell me what I seek."

 _ **I don't know how to answer that my lord. I serve because I must. I don't believe in any cause my kings have gone to war over but I fight because they ordered me to. I use to fight them...If I fought hard enough I could break my handlers' commands.**_

"But you stopped fighting them."

 _ **It wasn't worth it. I don't remember most of it.. It was before they took my eyes I know that. I was mad about something. Something they were doing. I didn't want to fight for them and they couldn't make me do anything. I was powerful and they were scared. They would try to order me and I would fight. There was yelling and pain...I was tired of being hurt. But I kept fighting then they brought my son and they took him from me. That was the last time I ever saw his face. There was a lull after that then it was worse than before...Its blurry but I remember spells against my wings. There was blood in my mouth and fire. Men were dying around me. They said that if I didn't obey they'd hurt him. They bound me after that. No more wings.**_ As I tell him the sensations pass over my skin- blood, smoke, and grime. Shouting fills my ears and the scent burning flesh fills my nose.

"You spent nearly a century fighting for him." My lord's voice is my anchor. It pulls me back from my memories' abyss. I'm no longer teetering on that cliff's edge about to fall. I'm here with my king that gave me back my wings.

 _ **I didn't know how long it had been...I knew he had to be grown by then but I've gotten too used to doing what they say.**_

"You said you could defy their orders if you fought. Why did you fight?" He wishes to know if I will fight him. No. He is strong in a way the others before him never were. He is also pragmatic as few men ever are. Will he give me those kinds of orders too? Will I be able to fight my good king? I'm not sure I could.

 _ **They were pointless. I kill to end a problem. Torture is to gain a solution. It isn't my place to ask why.**_

"You don't ask why but still you defied them...some moral reason I presume."

 _ **I would not kill a hostage when there was another option.**_

"Did your option jeopardize your mission?"

 _ **No.**_

"Then it would cause no problem for me. What other instances of defiance were there?"

 _ **I would not rape anyone or kill an unarmed child.**_ Those were the orders I would never follow, not having been followed upon.

"Interesting that you specify a child being unarmed."

 _ **Too many wars in places where children were trained to be as deadly as adults.**_ Those were the worst missions I have ever cast a spell in. They turned even my stomach.

"You have your lines in the sand. I meant what I said Azrael. You are a man. You just forgot how to be."

"As for what I aim...I aim to remove the current rule anyway I can. Most of my followers and myself included despise muggles. Their presence binds our society as surely as those cuffs bound your wings. Almost every avenue of magic that has been banned in this country was done so to appease the muggle protection treaties."

"I wonder...what are your feelings on the matter Azrael?"

 _ **I have none. I don't believe muggles ever crossed my mind.**_

"No...I suppose they wouldn't have."

"Any matter, your tasks will vary depending on what is needed at the time."

"Not all of your missions will be shows of power. Some will require other skills. Some such as Abraxus are experts in espionage. While others such as Rockwood are adept a assassinations."

 _ **I have carried out such tasks before.**_

"I thought you might have. Can you read?" The fluttering of paper reaches my ears. He must have picked up the stack of papers he's been annoyed with to make a point. There is something fulfilling in the thought that I am adept enough that even my lord forgets that I am blind while speaking to me.

 _ **If the letters are raised enough I can make them out.**_

"No, that won't be good enough. Too slow and unreliable...how _do_ you know where things are around you?"

 _ **I can see magic without my eyes. I can feel where objects and people are because of it.**_

"Show me."

 _ **I can't.**_

"Can Legilimency work on you?"

 _ **I don't know my lord.**_ I don't bother telling him that it never has before.

"Sit, keep your eyes forward and open."

"Legilimens."

"Your perception is incredible." My lord is impressed? He does not know what he's done. No unspeakable was ever able to see how I see to understand. They have never been able to understand how I speak as I do let alone how I perceive the world. My new king is powerful beyond words and he may not even realize the extent. I don't believe I do either.

"I doubt that anyone would be able to make sense of your memories though. Its a good thing that they are so indecipherable...I don't think I've ever met anyone who had no protection to their mind. That sense of yours it only reacts to magic in your environment correct?"

 _ **Yes.**_

"Then in a muggle environment you truly would be blind."

 _ **I can reach with my own magic but as a general rule yes.**_

"I see. I will pair you with others who will balance out your weakness. It may take a few missions to see whom you work best with."

 _ **Of course my lord.**_

* * *

Over the next few weeks the pair gained a comfortable closeness, or as comfortable a former prisoner and a misanthropic master of magic could. They were the only two who stayed in the manor regularly with the exception of the occasional report being dropped off.

Azrael offered a much needed distraction from the dark lord's work and brought back to light a tiny sliver of the once scholarly Tom Riddle. The man's very existence brought about quandaries that the great sorcerer had never before considered. Questions that awoke his burning need to know in a way that nothing had since he had left Albania with Ravenclaw's diadem. Under the guise of allowing the creature man to better serve him he searched and found a series of spells to allow Azrael to read anything his hands crossed. He even managed to incorporate speed reading charms with them to increase the blind man's efficiency.

One early morning Azrael approached him. His gate was forced and determined. Whatever it was about, he had talked himself into speaking to his lord about it.

.

.

"What is it?"

 _ **I would like to learn to speak with others.**_ There is a tightness to his posture as if he expects his request to be denied. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight in anxiety that no one would guess an immortal to have reason for.

"Healer Gibbons already said that there is nothing he can do for your voice."

 _ **Muggles speak with their hands...I would like to learn how.**_

"Do you know how to blend in in the muggle world? You wouldn't be the first wizard to be a fool at trying."

 _ **You would let me?**_

"I told you that you may seek any knowledge you desire unless I forbid it. As I already lay claim to your mind's voice you need another way to speak."

Just like that the tension fled from his form.

"If you are to act as a face in public I will have you blend in. Your scars make you very recognizable."

 _ **Yes my lord.**_

"To remove the scars from your skin will be a difficult and painful process with your resistance to magic. I have a potion that may remove the scarring from your eyes as well. Though it is doubtful that it will restore your sight."

 _ **I have no need of it.**_

"No, you wouldn't would you.?" The Dark lord muttered thoughtfully. "Do you miss it?"

 _ **As much as a grown man misses being a baby I imagine. I've been without most of my existence. What little of it that came before the dark I can't remember anyway.**_

"Hmm. If you wish to do this it will take a bit of time. The main part will take three days to brew."

 _ **I wish to do this.**_

"Very well. It will be ready by Saturday."

* * *

Saturday came and the pair found themselves in the ritual room Voldemort had prepared. The scents filling the room were soft and herb tinged making it feel far less barren than its appearance made it. It was a fire lit room of stone with a potion filled basin occupying its far wall. The spanse of the walls was only broken by the edges of their stones and the torches that gave them light.

.

.

 _ **I am ready my lord.**_

"You will need to remove your clothing. I know of only one way to remove so many scars. It will not be pleasant for you."

 _ **I understand my lord.**_

"I don't think you do. I will have to remove your skin by a spell and have you soak in a potion to regrow it." *

 _ **Understood.**_ With that Azrael began to disrobe before his lord's eyes.

"No modesty at all." Voldemort let his eyes trail down the warrior's body. It was certainly appealing in shape but as with all he had seen of him before, it was deeply marred by the layers of scars. Whomever had punished Azrael through the years had spared no inch of his flesh.

 _ **It wasn't needed.**_

He should have expected as much. Azrael had spent nearly a century being dehumanized. Likely a great deal more if time turners were taken into account.

.

.

Without his intention his hands raised to trace the gruesome scars.

"How were they done?" His fingers followed a thick ropelike one the length of his angel's shoulder blade.

 _ **A few of them were hexes designed to battle dragons. Others were cursed objects. This...**_ Azrael's hand traced one of the larger lines stretching from his right shoulder wrapping his chest and side to his left buttock.

 _ **Was a spelled whip. Coated in Nundu saliva if if memory serves.**_ Rage flooded him once more. Azrael belonged to him, to the Dark Lord Voldemort and no one else. This sight was for his eyes alone. If his silent warrior even hinted at returning that desire he would have him warming his bed in a heartbeat.

His angel began to shift uncomfortably before him. With a sigh he collected his thoughts and began.

First he cast the charm to force magic past Azrael's hide. Then he raised his wand once more

"D _ecorticatium_." His angel fell to his knees with a silent scream on his lips. The air rasped past his ruined vocal cords and his body trembled. Blood welled and pooled where skin had been stripped away leaving bare tendons and sinew behind. Azrael's tremors rocked his petite form and tears fell from his blind white marbled eyes. At this point it was the spell alone leaving him still conscious.

The dark lord removed the battle scarred hide with clinical precision, never letting the spell slip deeper than it needed. He moved quickly from area to area taking no longer than he had to. This was pain but it was not meant as torture even if it still was. As he reached the end of his task the last of Azrael's skin sloughed off leaving a shaking red thing behind choking on his own rasping soundless sobs.

"Take a deep breath." He ordered gently. As always his angel did as he was told without question.

The potion was mostly clear with a pearly sheen. He levitated Azrael's now skinned body into the bath and let him be fully submerged. The potion rapidly clouded red as it set to work regrowing his skin.

As the angelic demon's skin was made anew the dark lord cast a dark look at the old. There were innumerable dark rituals that would benefit from Azrael's pelt. The number of things that had touched it that would kill a human on contact were inconceivable. If the magical essence of those deadly touches remained it would bode ill if anyone were to use it against them. Yet it could not be destroyed by fire or acid. Vanishing it could have mixed results at best and it was doubtful that most detritivores would be able to get through the skin to force its decay. He would have to find some means to dispose of it so no one could use it against them.

All too soon and long at once his foul thoughts were interrupted by his companion

The blind man rose gasping for air. At first his new skin was thin and red but rapidly it thickened to a soft paleness, still too new to have seen the light of the sun yet. His scalp was bare for the moment but showed the darkening shadow of its quickly growing mane.

.

.

Azrael was even more beautiful than he had imagined. Even more than the memories led him to believe. Before he had removed his scars he had found him to be alluring but now...his angel was more than stunning. His skin was smooth and clear, without blemishes or scars, without lines or wrinkles. He had a look to him now that made his age impossible to tell. He had the build of a grown man in his prime, petite perhaps but full none the less. Between his ageless face and his body he could be any age from the dregs of childhood to a proud man of his forties. He was still without voice and without sight as he would likely remain for the rest of his life. But no more was he marred by centuries of ill hands on his flesh. From now on the only scars that would paint him would come from the hands and wand of the dark lord himself and only if they were deserved.

* * *

I can smell him, the air is nearly thrumming with his arousal. Nothing's changed. I try to relax. I'll heal faster if I'm relaxed. I should have remembered. I had not intended to entice...Most of my kings have been too disgusted to bother desiring me.

"You will need a blood replenishing potion once we are done here." I see. At least he has bothered to warn me.

But he does nothing. I can scent his arousal. I can hear the blood rushing in his veins. But he doesn't take me or demand that I service him. Oh….I see. I've had other kings like that. I still disgust him but he is aroused in my presence. His disgust is greater than his interest. Yet still, he's done so much...I'm not sure I understand this man. I'm not sure that I ever will.

"Tilt your head and keep your eyes open." My lord ordered and I obeyed. Cool drips fall into my eyes. The scent of a potion burns in my nose and I feel my master's fingers rubbing softly at the new flesh at my cheeks and temples. His touch grounds me as the potion burns in my eyes, I can feel it scalding away the scar tissue. If I had a voice I'd have screamed already. I'd have screamed until my throat was raw and silent as it is now. As it stands my rasps still fill the room.

"It is done now. Rinse your eyes Azrael." My lord places a wet cloth in my hands to dab away the potion from my ruined eyes. Were they still ruined? I'll never be able to see to know...What of my lord's presence has me desiring things I've never wanted before? ... He makes me wish I was whole.

"It did as much as it could. The scarring that is left is not nearly as noticeable at a glance. Just a white line breaking the color." He answers as if he's stolen the words from my mind even though I know he never reached for it. "I don't believe I've ever seen eyes as green as yours naturally." So they are as unnatural as the rest of me then...

~You have beautiful eyes, my angel.~ My master whispered softly as he stood away from me. He speaks so softly that I doubt he meant for me to hear. Were those his true thoughts? He...I don't understand. He didn't act but there was no disgust in his voice as he spoke.

Thank you my lord.

* * *

Brain, you had two choices and you chose the goriest one...why? One was vaguely sensual and almost nice and then there was that one. -_-

I really hate the word sloughed. I really do. Some people cant stand the word moist. I despise the word sloughed. It sounds like someone getting sick.

.

* I know I'm not the first one to do this if anyone can remember the Author and story that it originally came from let me know and I'll leave a credit to them. All I remember is it was another Harry/Voldemort story.

decorticate: To remove the bark, rind, or husk from.


End file.
